Stolen Valor
by megers67
Summary: A spacer boasts about his service to now-Vice Admiral Amelia who is counting the mistakes pile up, waiting for her moment to strike.


It was one of those rare evenings that Amelia had the night off and wasn't required to wear her uniform. Though she wasn't exactly off-duty. One had to keep constant vigilance and if she caught any spacers exhibiting untoward behavior she would be swift to correct it. But until then, for all intents and purposes, tonight she was just Mrs. Doppler having dinner with her adoring husband who had made the trip out here to Crescentia just for this.

They were sitting at a small table in a pub restaurant that had a reasonable crowd compared to the limited space available. It was a ways off base, but there was still a large patronage of spacers. Some came to Nelson's Port for their superb rum. Of course, it was the only establishment in Crescentia that actually made its own, making it the clear choice when spacers wanted their ration. Others stayed for the inexpensive yet warm and filling food that may not win any awards, but felt more at home than most.

Then there were some like Amelia who appreciated and took advantage of the longstanding tradition of not wearing a uniform in the establishment. Local legend had it that a Royal Navy captain wanted to treat his crew after a hard-fought battle, and not just the officers. However, the captain would have gotten in trouble for fraternizing with the common crew. So they planned to meet at a pub off base without their uniforms so they could celebrate in peace. Nelson's Port was that pub and they continued to celebrate in this fashion whenever they came into port. Eventually the practice spread as throughout the fleet as people were promoted, assigned to different ships, and had commands of their own. None of this could be substantiated in any way of course, however the tradition stood. No uniforms and everyone was treated with mutual respect that wasn't allotted by rank. Jeffries, the four-armed owner was one in a long line of veterans who ran the establishment and kept the traditions as alive as ever. His son was set to take over for him since the young man was forced to retire from service after losing one of his tentacle arms in the recent Ironclad War. They credited Amelia for his otherwise intact return home and insisted on giving her criminally reduced rates. The least she could do was to make sure to check in on them when she could manage to do so.

Dr. Doppler looked up from his biteful of meat pie when he noticed his wife was staring unblinking at a young spacer who had just entered. He was the only one in uniform, however that wasn't terribly surprising. In some circles it was considered a rite of passage to make that faux pas, either as a prank pulled by fellow crewmembers or from a simple mistake. However, something seemed off about this spacer that he couldn't quite place. The mood of the room was eerily cold with a hint of suspicion.

Amelia's hand, which had been halfway to her mouth slowly lowered. "That man will be leaving here on a stretcher unless I intervene myself," she whispered. "I should not be long, love." With that, she stood and approached the man who now sat at the pub's counter. It was as if with each step her personality was changing until she sat next to him with the persona of a spacer chaser, the women (and men) who cozied up to Royal Navy spacers for a night. It was so unnatural to see his wife like this that he became severely uncomfortable. Not for any doubt in their marriage, but because it simply wasn't her. However, he was starting to see why something seemed out of sorts with the oblivious and doomed man.

"So, you are in Her Majesty's Royal Navy?"

"Yes, ma'am." The spacer beamed with pride in reply.

"Then you must be in need of your ration." Jeffries, hesitated before her nod set him about his task. Though it was surely noted that the man first found more than a few other activities that had a higher priority, which Amelia didn't mind in the slightest. "Oh, I am a regular here," Amelia responded to the spacer's quizzical look. "However, I do say that I have never seen a uniform quite like yours before. May I ask your rank?"

"Captain, ma'am. Promoted last year to the day."

She raised an eyebrow then gestured to the assortment of medals adorning his chest before the pause grew too long. "Well, Captain, you are certainly decorated."

The spacer almost puffed up at the chance to boast of his accomplishments. "This one I received for serving in the Pelsinor Campaign, and these two for the recent Ironclad War-"

"Fascinating. I have never seen anyone with two campaign medals for the Ironclad War."

"Well, I had two tours. I got injured early on so they had to send me back home. That's how I got this one, by the way." He pointed to the next medal. "But I was able to recover in time to return to duty and so I got a second tour. I actually have a scar. Do you want to see?" Before Amelia could politely decline, the spacer unbuttoned his waistcoat and lifted his shirt to reveal a small straight scar in his side.

"I'm sure there's quite the story behind that one," Amelia mused.

"There is, but I wouldn't want to go into all of the gory details. But we had boarded a Proc ship and one of the bastards got a laslock shot onto me before I could dispose of him."

"Oh that must have been quite the painful injury."

He nodded with confidence. "But before I could bleed out, I noticed my Captain was in trouble so I managed to save him and for that, I got the Illutian Cross, here." He pointed to the medal on the far right.

"The Illutian Cross? Well might I say sir, that you look radiant for your age."

"Oh yeah, well with all of my great service, that's why they promoted me to Captain so young. They say I'm the youngest officer to make the grade."

Amelia, who knew that claim to be her own, looked as if she was going to say something else, but decided to pursue a different line of inquiry. "If you've been a captain for a year, were you in command of a vessel during the Battle at Parliament then? What ship?"

"The _RLS Arrente_."

A hot flash of anger coursed through her body, but she controlled it before it reached the surface. "Oh, Captain, I am so sorry for your loss."

The spacer was surprised but desperately attempted to hide it and play along. "Y-Yeah."

"I did not even realize that there were any survivors. To be the only one left after losing your entire crew must be a tremendous weight upon you."

"A-A loss I carry with me every day. But such is life in the Royal Navy. Loss is something you have to get used to."

Jeffries finally arrived. "Sorry for the wait, ma'am. Other things came up. One spacer's ration." He placed the half-pint of rum squarely between the two of them. The spacer made a reach for it, but Amelia snatched it first, leaned comfortably against the countertop and took a nice long swig without breaking eye contact. The spacer watched Amelia with silent confusion.

"Oh!" She feigned surprise. "You assumed I ordered this for you? Unfortunately this is only for spacers in the Royal Navy."

He blinked a few times. "B-"

"But you are? Well firstly, no self-respecting captain would be wearing a lieutenant's jacket and a midshipman's hat. Also, you may only begin wearing epaulettes on both shoulders when you have served as a captain for a minimum of three years, which by your claim, you have not reached. Of course that's to say nothing of the fact that your boots are completely out of regulation."

The spacer seemed to be growing frustrated as the entire room silently watched him brought lower and lower. Doppler for one might have had some twinge of sympathy somewhere, but it was greatly overwhelmed by how much he adored watching his wife putting someone in their place. The spacer once again attempted to defend himself, but Amelia wouldn't allow him the room to draw the breath.

"I'm not finished. For the medals, the Ironclad War is not a campaign itself, but is made of several. However, even if it was, you only receive one per campaign, no matter how many times you tour it. The medal you claim to have received for your injuries in battle is actually the Royal Red Cross, given for exemplary service of medical personnel. Your medic would have been the one to earn that for treating your wound, which I must also point out can not have been from a laslock. It looks more like a minor knife wound. Lastly I complimented you on your age because the Illutian Cross has not been awarded since King Illutar's death 30 years ago."

Now the spacer was fuming that he had been embarrassed in front of the crowd. "What do you know?! Y-you don't know what you're talking about! Who are you to tell me what how to wear my uniform?"

Amelia for one is the most relaxed she had been the entire conversation. "Why, I am quite sure that any spacer stationed in this sector would know who _I_ was, even out of uniform."

Jeffries couldn't help but join in now. "Is this man botherin' you, _Vice Admiral_?"

The 'spacer' suddenly paled and began to regret the life choices that had led to this moment. It was that look of sudden horror that finally broke the crowd's silence in uproarious laughter.

"Oh tosh, Mr. Jeffries, I can handle myself just fine," Amelia said through a predatory smile. "However, were I in any real trouble, I believe there would have been plenty of hands available to come to my aide." Almost three quarters of the crowd stood on their feet at attention, as if at their battle stations awaiting

The spacer had had enough of this and made a dash to the door, but was blocked by a man whose bright red spines unfurled down his back in readiness, and another who was large even by Ursan standards. Calmly, Amelia moved to stand behind the spacer, but now she stood tall, exuding the full might of her station in her stance. That's the wife Doppler knew and loved.

"Unfortunately _Captain_ ," she paused for effect, "I cannot allow you to leave this establishment in that uniform. There is too great a risk that you will abuse it again."

The poor man was shaking. He never would have cut it in the Navy. "I-I I swear I won't do it again! Promise! Please let me go! I don't have any other clothes with me."

The Admiral had no sympathy. "I did not make the choice to wear stolen valor. Either you remove that uniform or we shall do it for you."

The man looked to all of the waiting faces around him, and made the only wise decision of the day. He stripped himself to his underthings and unceremoniously flung the pieces of uniform into the crowd. Once his path was cleared, lewd whistles and cheering followed the man as he bolted out of the door in disgrace.

The spacers who had clothing lobbed at them reverently folded them with the honor they deserved as Amelia addressed them. "Is there a requisitions officer here?"

"Aye, ma'am."

"When you are done here, take the uniform and decorations back to base with you. Make sure that if there is a rightful owner, that they or their family is found."

"Aye, ma'am."

"Good." With that, Amelia retrieved her drink then finally returned to her husband. The pub had returned to business as usual.

"I know how disciplined you are," Doppler commented. "But I can't help but be surprised by your restraint. I'm sure half of the spacers in here would have been glad to give him a one-two."

Amelia sighed. "More than that I suspect. However, I dearly did not want to have to discipline anyone for participating in a physical altercation with a civilian." She finished off her rum ration. "No matter how much they deserved it.


End file.
